


Ink

by worldwithoutlogic



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Slash, cecilos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldwithoutlogic/pseuds/worldwithoutlogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil’s fascinated when he notices pen ink on Carlos. It's not even poetry week, so... What's going on?<br/>He doesn’t care though. Because when Carlos brings him close, the ink rubs off on him and for once, he feels like he's part of something bigger.<br/>Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

Sometimes he wonders how Carlos ended up in Night Vale.

But those moments don’t last long; his non-questioning nature takes over, as is the nature of all residents of Night Vale, and he shrugs off those thoughts. Even when he comes across Carlos on the street, rushing off to do something science-related, or him just going about his daily business, Cecil takes for granted that he’s always been at Night Vale; he’ll always continue being there. He sometimes notices smudges on Carlos’ hands, but doesn’t stop to think. It’s probably something else that’s unexplainable. It’s practically a way of life, now that he thinks about it. Always being unassuming.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

Cecil stands inquisitively at the lab door, watching Carlos scribble something down furiously. He furrows his eyebrows. Taking a tentative step further into his lab, he notices once again those familiar smudges, his large hand hiding the writing instrument behind it. But the smudges tell enough. Putting two and two together, Cecil stares on.

“I thought pens weren't allowed in Night Vale? What if the City Council finds out? What if—”

“It's okay, Cecil. They won’t find out.” Carlos says calmly, continuing to write in those neat, cursive strokes, and Cecil can’t help but be fascinated at how his movements are so precise, etching letters that flow down the page seamlessly. He’s never really witnessed someone writing so perfectly, so elegantly; he has always assumed everyone had handwriting that looked like chicken scratch, with everyone hurrying to pen down poetry during that one week in the entire year, the only time where everyone gets to exercise their writing fingers and muscles.

“How can you be so sure?” His eyes remain trained, mesmerised even, by Carlos’ hands. Those perfect hands, where even the darkest ink stains couldn’t mar. He doesn’t even want to imagine the Sheriff's Secret Police clamping down on his perfect, perfect Carlos.

“I'm serious, Cecil. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it all figured out.” He smiles for the first time that night.

His smile leads Cecil into immediately brightening up. Gosh, he would do anything to see him smile. He is lulled into a sense of security when Carlos smiles, the crinkle in his eyes reassuring him immensely.

“Come here, Cecil.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask, just come.” He's still scribbling furiously, his hand flying across the page.  
Cecil draws close and Carlos looks up.

“You don’t have to worry about me, you know,” Carlos says.

“I know, but it’s hard to! I see you doing all these things for the sake of science and I’m afraid that something may happen to you. Like how it’s been happening to other people.”

“There’s always a risk, you know. But sometimes it’s a risk you have to take.”

Cecil isn’t sure if Carlos’s words have more than one meaning, but it seems that there is, as the scientist with the gorgeous hair slowly pats his hand. Cecil looks down and meets the eyes of the scientist. He drops his pen and it rolls away, but he doesn’t care as he stands up from his desk and cups Cecil’s face into his hands. His ink-stained hands.

The world stands still and yet Cecil feels like the room is spinning around them and it’s like a whirlwind of emotions that he can’t make sense of at the moment. Wouldn’t even want to try to, though, because this moment calls for raw desire, to touch and feel and sense and Cecil can’t help but feel everything and yet nothing all at once.

The ink smudges off onto Cecil’s face as the kiss deepens, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he finds a raw adrenaline rush in that simple act, like he's delving into something entirely forbidden.

Kissing in his lab was one thing, but bearing the marks of something illegal added to the thrill, as Carlos marked him as his from the way he smudged ink onto his hands and neck and jawline.

They break apart and Carlos rummages around his table for the pen that rolled astray.

“Goodnight, Cecil,” he says, twirling the pen between his fingers, gorgeous lips curving into a knowing smile. It’s barely noticeable, but Cecil can feel his eyes trailing down the sides of his face, probably admiring his handiwork in the form of black splodges on his skin.

“Goodnight,” he replies softly, composure that he usually has during his community radio sessions completely gone. He wonders how the single word that he could throw around without a thought in the studio meant so much more in here.

He walks out of the lab, still bearing the ink stains; he wears them proudly and figures that he couldn’t care less about the police.

Just for tonight.


End file.
